


Becoming More than What We Are

by dragongoats



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxiety, Backstory, Comfort, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Mages and Templars, Romance, Slow Burn, emotional boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3257048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongoats/pseuds/dragongoats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haunted by memories of the Circles collapse, The Herald of Andraste struggles to determine their place in the Inquisition, and discovers an unlikely companionship in an ex-templar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unlikely Recruit

**Author's Note:**

> I took some liberties with the back story of Mage Trevelyan. Inspired by blurb at the beginning of the game about them 'fighting for their life' against templars, and the broken circle in Dragon Age: Origins.
> 
> I tried not to write anything too gruesome or detailed, but there are some mentions of death, killing, as well as sections with face to face combat, and near-death experiences.

_Find me_  
_still searching_  
_for someone to lead me_

 _Can you_  
_guide me_  
_to the revolt inside me_

***

The sound of clashing steel reverberated up The Herald of Andraste's arm as he made a laboured attempt to block another relentless sword attack. He lifted his sword up, barely managing to parry in time, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"Again." Seeker Cassandra commanded as she lunged at him once more. The Herald raised his sword, his entire arm feeling numb. With a grunt he lost his grip on his sword, and it crashed to the ground. He took a few steps backwards out of the range of his attacker, the snow crunching beneath his feet, as he tried to manage an escape.

"You asked me to train you in swords but you give up too easily. Pick up your sword. I will not ask again." Cassandra looked at him with a determined frown.

The Herald wanted to do nothing but lie down on the ground and give into the total physical exhaustion he felt. His legs trembled with exertion as he took several steps forward. It was too much, he could barely stand, let alone pick up the heavy steel and block another blow. He felt tears and panic creeping at the edges of his mind.

Memories of defending his friends from the attack on the Oswick circle tower came unbidden to the front of his mind. Mages trapped in corners with no will or power to defend themselves, resorting to the ultimate escape becoming abominations, or who were simply cut down long before they could attempt such an act. His friends, his family for many years were mercilessly slaughtered by those templars who abandoned the Chantry. They lunged at them, clawing, slashing, spouting hateful words. Cursing them. Calling them _Maleficar_ and showing no mercy, refusing to back down.

The Herald felt cornered, despite it being a training session and knowing that Cassandra would back down if he told her to. But he forced himself to keep going, he wanted to get better, to be able to defend himself. So that he may never be another situation where he felt himself slipping from reality.

 

*

_He cast a final ice spell, barely able to freeze his feet in place as his attacker approached him cursing hideous insults. He stepped over his fallen comrades, those he failed to protect. His mana was completely drained and he feebly lifted his staff to block a vicious swing of steel from the attacking Templar. He shut his eyes as a wave of fear and the certainty of death overcame him, unable to react or save himself._

_The blade hit his staff and the wood splintered and broke in two pieces. He felt the shocking sensation of a spray of warm blood against his face and he opened his eyes in surprise. The air tasted metallic and his entire body froze at the sight of the bright liquid. The Templar stood immobile in front of him, then toppled over to the side with a heavy, wet sound. He was shaking from fear as he faced yet another Templar, one who had been standing behind the now dead man, blade in hand, covered in red._

_He wiped off his blade and sheathed it, approaching him cautiously. His voice had been gentle as he offered him his hand—_

 

*

"Get up." The coarse voice ripped through his recollection. Cassandra scowled at him. The Herald had sunk to one knee and had hung his head in resignation, breathing hard. His muscles refused to work and his sword arm felt like lead. He struggled to block out the memories and panic that seeped into him as an almost unbearable desire to give up took hold.

"I can't." The Herald gasped out. Feeling utterly broken and useless.

He heard Cassandra utter a low noise in displeasure in response. The Herald felt like giving in. Giving up. It was too much. He couldn't do this.

He could hear the crunching of steps near him and the low, gentle voice of Commander Cullen. "Perhaps I could assist."

The Herald lifted his face slightly to see the broad shoulders and proud figure of the Commander of the Inquisitions forces. His hands rested easily along his longsword as he eyed them both, taking in his fatigued body and Cassandra's obvious annoyance.

"Fine," Cassandra sighed. "I have no patience for this. You train the recruits after all. This one is almost beyond help."

"Indeed. I find that sometimes a gentler hand is required for the rawest of recruits." He caught the eye of the Herald and cast him a small smirk. Something inside him felt stronger at the reassuring gesture. His mind cleared a bit and regained some confidence. He was safe here.

Cassandra sheathed her sword and left them with a "Your Worship" and a polite nod, her feet audibly dragging along the snowy ground.

Once Cassandra was out of view, Cullen took a few steps towards The Herald and offered him his hand--

 

*

_"Are you alright? Can you stand?" The man asked as he reached for his hand, his face was familiar, young, kind. He vaguely recalled seeing him while studying in the library. One of the many Templars who guarded them day and night. His steel gauntlets were hot and sharp against his bare skin, but he accepted his aid anyway. The Templars that had stayed to defend the loyal mages were few and far between, but the fact he wasn't eviscerating him was evidence enough._

_"I need... to rest. My mana is so low." Trevelyan gasped out, favouring his left side as he attempted to walk. "What I saw the others do, it is unacceptable. I won't be broken like that."_

_He cursed under his breath when he cast his eyes around the room, taking in the scene. Bodies lay at every angle, in piles, mage and templar alike. Metal and cloth. Between them, sharing the same pooling dark red stain. When the fighting had started mages and templars had attacked blindly, in an insane rage._

_"What is the point of all this. In the end we are all the same." Trevelyan felt anger and hot tears streaming down his face. His lower lip trembled as he felt a flood of anger and pain for those he had lost. His friends..._

_"I can not answer that, Ser." The Templar's voice was calm and soothing. He had stepped back to give him space. The expected templar behaviour falling into place, not getting too close to the mages, to their charges. The circles had fallen and order abandoned them, and he was still treating him with the same caution._

_"There are others holed up in a more secure part of the tower, come. I will take you there, it should be safer."_

*

Cullen frowned when The Herald did not take his hand immediately. "Are you injured?"

The Herald shook his head, to clear the memories, to answer his question. "No, I— I am alright. Just shaken. Beaten."

"Cassandra should have been going easier on you, not wear you down until you could not stand. Forgive her, training is not her strongest of attributes."

The Herald took his outstretched hand, the worn leather creaking as he encompassed his hand in his, lifting him to his feet. His breathing had evened out, now that he had had a moment to recover and while his muscles ached, he thought he could stand again.

Cullen's hand reached out to gently run it along his shoulder and his finger tips lingered while he looked at him with some concern, his eyes inspecting him carefully. "Do not be discouraged by Cassandra's methods. She is abrasive even on the best of days. For one learning the basics such as you, it is not such a benefit." He let out a low chuckle.

The Herald tipped his head up to look at Cullen, they were a step apart, but the gentle way he touched him made him feel flushed, despite his fatigue. Perhaps his exhaustion made him forget himself, forget his uncertain place in this Inquisition, forget the place of mages and templars in this world. His touch made him ache to be touched beyond just this polite comfort. To be embraced by someone, to be truly loved. Emotionally, physically. All the things he was not allowed in the circle, all the things he had dared not attempt.

*

_He could not recall the last physical comfort he had shared beyond being huddled up, shoulder to shoulder waiting to die along with the rest of the loyal mages and templars in the circle. Praying for an end to the madness. But that closeness had felt stifling, not enough room to move, to breath. The Templars arguing amongst themselves all night, to stay or to go on the offensive, whether they clear out the remaining threats to their safety, how long could they stay there before they ran out of food?_

_Days later, with their food stores diminished, they left the safety of their room and discovered the templars and rebel mages had abandoned the circle. The halls were hauntingly empty, littered with bodies, scorch marks and crackling ice that hung from the walls and ceilings._

_It took weeks to clear out all the magic, and damage, and to bury the fallen. They mourned. They comforted themselves in what ever manner they could, they attempted to rebuild the circle and create some semblance of order._

*

The Herald shifted under Cullen's light touches and he quickly removed his hand, dropping his hands back to his sides. He cleared his throat quietly and glanced away from him, looking a bit sheepish. "I— I could help you with your form, provide some gentler instruction, if you would prefer." Cullen leaned over and picked up his sword and handed it to him, hilt first.

The Herald's skin felt cool where his touch had been and he instantly wished he would put his hands on him again, just to feel that security, that safety and comfort. Even if just for a moment. But the moment had passed and he didn't know quite how to ask that of him.

"That would be most welcome." He took the sword from him, letting his fingers drift over his briefly before grasping the handle and stepping back from him.

"The key is footing and how you hold your body. You need a proper stance so you can react quickly and use your movements and power to your advantage. Watch me."

Cullen pulled out his sword and showed the Herald several stances, for blocking, swinging, dodging. He went though several motions slowly to show him each twist and turn of the body.

The Herald marvelled at how smooth and practised his actions seemed. With his gentle smiles and dry humour, it was easy to forget that he was a highly respected and skilled warrior, a Knight-Commander in Kirkwall, training others for years before joining the forces of the Divine.

The Herald mentally memorized the movements, filing them away as he so often did when researching and studying a topic that fascinated him. This topic was important to him, and he would throw himself into it completely. He had all but begged Seeker Cassandra to teach him how to use a sword knowing that there were times when magic was not enough, and he didn't want to fail others again, not when they were praising him and bowing in his presence and telling him he was the only hope for Thedas. The stress and pressure that had put on him felt immense and overwhelming at times.

He attempted to follow several of the movements along with Cullen, standing beside him. His actions felt slow and clunky compared to his fluid ones. He tried not to let himself feel discouraged again. He had mastered casting many spells and that had involved both physical and mental discipline and practice, he could do this.

He repeated the motion of bringing his sword around and blocking as Cullen had shown him but it still felt off, like he wasn't quite angling his body the right away. He felt Cullen behind him, his hand reaching over to cover his hands with his on the sword hilt. "You want to hold it here." He suggested, raising his arms up slightly and bending his elbows.

The Herald could feel the heat of his body so close to him and he felt heat pooling in his stomach in response. He closed his eyes and breathed out deeply. He told himself it was the absence of any physical intimacy or comfort for so long that had brought on this completely inappropriate reaction to Cullen’s presence. He swallowed hard and tried to recall the next step of the movement but his mind could only focus on the gloved hand that had drifted to his hip and rested there, his breath cooling the sweat against his neck, making him shiver.

"Are you cold? We can take a break. You've been at it a while. It will take time to master."

The Herald turned slightly in his arms and looked up at him, his sword falling to his side. Cullen looked at him warmly, a small smile reaching his face. He felt secure, and comforting, safe. He trusted him, like he had trusted that Templar back in Ostwick, after just one kind action.

"This may be a strange request, but at the Circle we never-- we were not permitted any physical comforts." He looked down quickly, suddenly embarrassed. He paused then started the conversation over and looked at him. "Since I've come here, so much as happened, and before that at the Circle. I've almost died too many times, and fought more demons and nightmares than I had ever expected to..." He trailed off, uncertain how much to share with him, how much he would want to hear of his past, of what it took to get to where he was.

"You have been kind to me. Not just in this, but when I needed council, when I needed to remind myself what we're fighting for, you were always so steady and assured of our purpose, our potential."

Cullen gave the inquisitor a smile and nodded to him. "I am pleased to have been of some assistance, my lord. It is the least I could do, given all we have asked of you."

"There are some comforts words can not do adequate justice to. I— May I ask one more request of you?"

"Anything." Cullen responded quickly, his voice gentle and low.

The Herald was a bit shocked by the abruptness of his response, how easy he would bow to him, follow him. He was still getting used to being the Herald of Andraste, and the respect and fear it commanded. "I am not asking you as the Herald of Andraste, but as Trevelyan, awkward, bookish, sheltered circle mage from Ostwick."

Cullen smirked at him. "Understood. My Lord Trevelyan. How can I be of assistance, beyond dropping formal titles in your address." He was keeping the conversation light, and he was grateful for that. It was too easy to think about the past and his actions or inactions. Of those lost and who will be lost.

Cullen's hand still gently rested against his hip and he was absently rubbing slow circles with his thumbs. It gave him some confidence, to request for a foolish, simple comfort, one that should be easy between two people who trusted each other. He had a distant memory of his parents hugging him fiercely the day the Templars came to take him to the circle, perhaps that was the last time someone had held him like that, feeling accepted and needed and safe.

"I wanted— er, that is, would you hold me? It's been so long..." He looked up into his honey coloured eyes with longing and hope.

Cullen looked a bit surprised at his request and raised an eyebrow at him, then he wrapped his arms around his shoulders and held him close, letting out a chuckle when he gripped his arms tightly in response. "I used to get this way in the tower too, too long without physical contact made me feel disconnected."

The herald smiled at that admission. He wasn't quite sure what he had expected by his request, he wanted to feel safe in his arms, a purely physical comfort. Nothing romantic, just filling an aching need to feel grounded and here and safe, at least for the moment. He let out a contented sigh and relaxed into the embrace, forgetting for the moment the circle, the breach, the training, the future.

When he moved to let go, he realized he didn't want to move. The fur lined cloak he wore around his neck felt soft against his face, and he nuzzled it, soaking in the last few moments of the embrace.

As they separated, The Herald's hands lingered along his arms and he looked at him. "Thank you. That was... what I needed. I forgot how good this feels."

Cullen seemed to blush, though it was hard to tell with the cold weather nipping at their faces. "Er, I— You're welcome. Your Worship. Anytime you need me."

The thought of being held again by this charming, warm, kind man had The Herald feeling uncharacteristically happy. His face lit up with a huge smile. "I would like that, Commander. Very much so."

The Herald looked around the training field, the pain of his muscles reminding him how very badly he needed to relax and take a hot bath, both highly unlikely in their current location. He was also starving.

"That's enough training for today, or perhaps for a week. Or two." He groaned as he moved his heavy limbs.

"Some food would be welcome, though. Join me, Commander?" He tilted his head at him in question, hoping he'd say yes. Hoping he'd brush his hand against his as they walked, hoping he'd never stop touching him. Hoping he meant it when he said he could hold him again.

He chuckled again, his eyes dancing. He looked content and happy. "Well... All right."


	2. An Uneasy Companionship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald can't stop thinking about Commander Cullen. Cassandra attempts to maintain civility despite their initial encounter as prisoner and captor, apologizing for their poorly handled training session.

_Cullen's mouth was soft and demanding on his, tasting him, teasing his lips. He held his head in his hands and kissed him like it was only thing in the world that mattered, until he was breathless and lightheaded._

_He carefully wrapped his arms around his neck and ran his hands through his soft, wavy hair. He let out a quiet groan as he angled his face towards his to deepen the heated kiss between them._

_His tongue dipped into his mouth, sliding against his, further stoking the heated fires that were building in his stomach. His strong arms drifted along his side, caressing him lightly as he tugged him closer to his body._

_He felt hot and hard against him. His hands grasped at his hips, trying to draw them even closer together and he groaned out his desire. Dipping his head down to nuzzle at his neck, he placing a trail of hot, wet kisses along his flushed skin. He whispered something in his ear, desire and want and need for him evident in his lust masked, husky voice._

_His legs felt weak, he wanted him so badly he could barely stand it, the sweet ache between his legs begging for him—_

_*_

The Herald's mind ripped back to the present at the sound of the tent flap opening and the cool night air flooding in. He looked up from where he was laying, tightly hugging his pillow to see Cassandra entering the tent. The small candle she held illuminating the confining tent and the Seeker's face with a low, orange light. The Herald flushed at the intrusion, feeling almost as if he had been caught in the very act he was imaging. As if Cassandra could read his mind, that she somehow knew the heated, passion filled images that had his aching. He took some solace in the fact it was probably too dark for Cassandra to make out the blush rising up his neck and spreading to the tips of his ears. He let out a low groan in frustration at himself, he could already envision the disapproval on Cassandra's face if she truly knew what he was thinking of, the particular position he had been dreaming the Commander being in. The many positions, over him, on him, in him—

He squeezed his eyes shut trying to drown out the vivid images, to forget the gentle touches from days ago while he helped his training. His skin still buzzed and burned with the memory and despite himself, he found he lingered on it constantly. Even in battle or when out exploring the Hinterlands, helping repair the war torn lands, it was never far from his mind. At night it was harder to ignore, there were fewer things to distract him and his face kept returning into focus. Those careful smiles, the feeling of him holding him, the smug smirks he gave him when he was feeling particularly confident or daring—

Cassandra settled into her bedroll, turning to face The Herald. "The other day when you asked me to train you, I apologise for not being more patient with you."

The Herald was a bit startled by the Seeker's apology, it was welcome, for sure, but unexpected. They had shared a tent for most of their trip, but they still held each other at a distance, both wary of each other. The Herald could not forget so easily how he had awoken in chains in a dungeon, with the Seeker's face twisted in an angry snarl, accusing him of murder. It had sounded like the Templars back in the circle, even before they had rebelled, how they had all viewed the Mages with unease. How many times had he been told that a Mage is always uncertain in their intent, that they always had the potential for madness, possession, blood magic. It seemed to not matter to them that cruelty and abuse was found in all people, mages or templars. He would always be a threat to others, to be feared and watched.

The Seeker was watching him carefully, her eyebrows relaxing from her scowl as she spoke again. "Why learn to wield a sword? I have seen your abilities, you are a highly skilled mage."

Lifting his head from his pillow and resting his head in his hand, the Herald considered how to respond. "That insanity we saw in the Crossroads, Templars and Mages tearing into each other, almost blindly fighting. When the circles fell. Many Templars and mages, went crazy. They forced the conflict, they didn't seem to care who was caught in the crossfire. The Mages that rebelled, cut down anyone who did not wish to join them, as if we were part of the problem, unwilling to kill innocent people. I had been fighting for days, protecting the younger or weaker mages from sword and magic. Eventually I was alone and cornered, a Templar was coming at me. I was so tired I could barely stand, my mana was depleted. I felt like I was at the edge of my strength. I had seen other, weaker mages give in and become abominations in the face of being cut down by a Templar's blade. It never seemed an acceptable action, but at that moment when I had but the strength to block their deathblow with my wooden staff, the option flickered in my mind. I was so stunned with fear I couldn't do anything though. I never had to make that decision."

Cassandra's voice was gentle when she spoke. "How did you manage to escape?"

"Another templar, a good man, cut him down before he could kill me. We got to a safer location where others were, to wait out the battle, hoping it would end. It eventually did after a time. But I will always remember that fear of being out of options, not having the strength to cast magic, not being able to physically defend myself. If that Templar had not been there I would not have survived a second blow. Wood does not compete against a steel blade. Everyone expects so much of me, how can I not attempt to do everything in my power to be stronger, to be better. So that next time when I need to protect people, I can."

Cassandra's expression softened. "That... is admirable. Perhaps we are not so different. To want to protect others, it is something I also believe in strongly. If you ever wish to practice again, I will try to be more patient with you."

"Thank you, Cassandra."

"Now, we must sleep. We should head out early tomorrow to reach Redcliffe Village to see what the Grand Enchanter is able to provide us." Cassandra's voice drifted off as her head hit the pillow and her breathing evened out and she fell asleep.

The Herald was jealous of the ability of a soldier to just fall asleep on command, regardless of how hard or cold the ground was. He shifted uncomfortably, the momentary haze of lust had passed and he was acutely aware of the miserable surroundings. He ached for a soft, warm bed.

He closed his eyes and wrapped himself around his pillow once more and eventually his mind began to slow. He felt himself falling asleep comforted by visions of warm beds and even warmer arms holding him.


	3. What May Come to Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald reflects on their experiences in the future and is glad to return to Haven safely.

The Herald and his companions were unusually quiet as they headed back to Haven from Redcliffe. Even the characteristically cheery weather in The Hinterlands was not enough to bring them out of the somber mood they were in. Their newly acquired Tevinter Mage, Dorian Pavus was silently walking in step with The Herald, for once not trying to charm the pants off of anyone or make a joke. Both of them had been shaken by the events of the possible future, a future that could very well still come to pass.

The Herald reflected back to the past several hours, in which they had intentionally entered a fortified castle knowing it was a trap, attempting to out smart the ring leader but getting caught anyway. He had barely believed Dorian when he had mentioned the theoretical Time Manipulation magic he had been working on with his mentor, Alexius. Then there was just something about his easy, care-free manner that put him on guard. He was too smooth, too charming. He didn't believe he was telling the entire truth of why he was there, ostensibly to protect Fereldan from some mad plan of a Tevinter cult to tear apart Thedas and assassinate him. But when they were thrown into the future, and they witnessed the end of the world, the breach encompassing the entire sky, The Herald had to reluctantly admit he was wrong. That Dorian's supposedly theoretical magic was very real, and he no choice but to trust him to get them back so he could set things right.

The entire trip felt surreal. He fought demons and closed rifts and followed Dorian as they made their way to confront Alexius, but the entire time he was in a daze. He could hardly believe this was the future that could come to be, that without him, without Cassandra or Leliana, the entire world would fall to corruption and the breach. How could one person make such a difference? Even with the mark, how could he stop all this?

*

_When they found Cassandra locked in a dirty cell with red lyrium growing out of her skin, The Herald almost broke down right there. Cassandra's voice was strained, and unusually tired when she spoke and told them about how the Inquisition fell, how they all fought bravely but inevitably fell in the end. They thought he had abandoned them, that he had died in the throne room._

_The Herald could barely contain the pained sob that burst from his throat at the thought of Cullen. His throat felt dry and tight and his stomach lurched. He recalled his determined, passionate speeches about how much good and promise their cause had. How much he wanted to believe in what they were doing. He would have fought to the end, their armies eventually swallowed up, while he and the others had just vanished, with no trace. Had he looked for him? Had he kept hoping for him to return, to come strolling in to save the day at the last minute?_

_The Herald felt his legs go weak at the thought of never seeing him again. Of the very real possibility of failure, their plan, after all had only a small chance of success. He prayed to the Maker under his breath that it would work, that they would all come out of this and reflect on it like a bad dream._

_A heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder, and he was startled out of the horrible thoughts circling through his mind. He met the concerned gaze of Dorian, his blue-grey eyes looking at him with sadness and understanding. "We will stop this." His words were so confident, and firm. He wanted so much to believe him._

*

The Herald and his companions walked the entire way to the rest stop in silence, with only the sounds of he heavy tread of armoured boots on dirt and the occasional squeaking nug to keep them company. When they reached the camp, The Herald unceremoniously stripped his still damp clothing off and entered a tent to get some rest and alone time. He had still not processed the events of the afternoon.

He had been right about the horrible future feeling like a bad dream. The sky still had a hole in it, but it was a much more reasonable, and familiar size. A more or less stable danger, one he welcomed gladly. The memory of the horrible future felt hazy, like he had dreamt it or read about it. He took the time to record the events of what had happened and provided it to the Inquisition agents before leaving Redcliffe castle, but right then, he felt compelled to write an additional letter to Haven.

*

_Before they had headed off to Redcliffe to potentially enter the trap Alexius had set for them, the war room meeting had been tense. Cullen had all along been resistant to gathering the mages, and had been adamant that the Templar was the safer choice. Leliana and Cassandra hadn't been as certain, what about the foreign power that had taken over Redcliffe? When the plan came to light that it was likely a trap, Cullen voiced his opinion even more strongly. He would not ask him to risk himself, he was too important. Too important to the cause, the only one who could close the breach, and the words left unsaid, too important to me._

_The Herald's heart skipped a beat at the intensity of his gaze. He swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away from Cullen long enough to address the others. He could not give up, there must be a way they could do this. And there was, the plan was formed, and remarkably, despite their reservations, the council agreed and followed his decision._

_Before he packed up to leave, he made the trek down the hill to the training field and cast a longing gaze at the location where he had attempted to learn how to hold a sword mere weeks ago. He had not picked up it up since then, perhaps from fear of disappointing Cullen or Cassandra. He promised himself he would practice when he returned. If he returned._

_The snow under his feet crunched and the air was quiet with falling snow as he made his way to where Cullen stood, reviewing reports near the tents. He looked up to see him approaching, and his face broke into a smile. "It's good to see you. I suppose you'll be off to Redcliffe shortly."_

_The Herald felt his body relaxing in his presence, glad he was not attempting to convince him to reconsider his decision. "Just making the rounds and gathering gear. We'll be gone by the afternoon. Wish me luck?" The Herald hoped he did not sound too hopeful in his request._

_Cullen took his hand in his and squeezed it, cullens gaze never breaking from his. The Herald's face felt like it was on fire, his hands were warm against his skin even with the leather of his gloves and his legs suddenly felt weak. His voice was low, and just for his ears. "Maker watch over you, my lord." Cullen ran his thumb over his bare knuckles before dropping his hand lightly._

_The Herald's eyes dropped to his lips, almost unconsciously, wishing he would kiss his lips as gently as he had held his hand. Wishing that these barriers they were hiding behind could be broken, so that he could say what he really wanted to say to him, but he was frozen in the face of the inescapable truth that he was the Herald, and he was the Commander, a mage and a Templar._

_I can't stop thinking about you._

_I ache for you to touch me._

_I want you to hold me again._

_Cullen must have noticed his flushed face and slightly dazed expression because he flashed him another one of his confident smirks and bowed to him. "If you'll excuse me my lord, I have some reports to get back to, and you have a castle to infiltrate."_

_Nodding, he cleared his throat, straightened his coat and walked away form him. He turned back once on his way to the smith, his eyes lingered on Cullen's broad shoulders, and the way he shifted his body weight to keep his toes from freezing on the cold ground. The Herald prayed to the Maker or Andraste or whoever would listen, that he would make it back to save everyone, and to save him._

 

*

He called out to one of the scouts for a bowl of stew, paper, and pen and ink. When they delivered the items and left with a bow, he crossed his legs and considered carefully about what to write. Before putting pen on paper, he briefly smiled when he imagined the reaction on Cullen's face when he read his missive stating that every bit of the evil Tevinter time magic was true. He considered that he probably would call it ridiculous and shake his head, refusing to believe what he knew to be correct.

*

_Commander Cullen,_

_By now you have no doubt received our missive regarding the success of stopping the Tevinter cult calling themselves the Venetori and that we have conscripted the mages so they may aid us in closing the breach. As such, I will not repeat all the details._

_I am writing to instead to inquire on your health and safety, I am still several days from returning to Haven, and it will greatly ease my mind to know you are well. While it feels almost like a dream, the horrors and implications of failure that I witnessed in that other future weigh heavily on me._

_Maker be with you,_

_Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste_

*

He sealed the letter and placed it near his legs as he finished the stew and crusty bread. He took deep, calming breaths, enjoying the rich, meaty broth that warmed his stomach. He could stop that future from happening, he had more information now and he would not fail them, he just prayed that the mark and the power of the rebel mages would be enough to close the hole in the sky once and for all.

*

A day later, while at the edges of the Frostbacks, a bird arrived with a letter for him. The Herald allowed himself a small hope that it was a response from the Commander. He allowed the party to take a small rest while he walked some distance away from them, for a bit of privacy while still being in clear view of the Seeker, who seemed to be ever concerned about his location. There was a twinge of the old feeling of confinement that he too often felt, being constantly watched in the circle, those stares that watched him for any hint of corruption, possession.

He stood near an embankment and uncoiled the small note and read it over carefully. The words were written with a heavy hand, the pen leaving intents in the soft paper.

*

_My Lord Trevelyan,_

_I have indeed received your timely missive and we await your return to Haven to plan for what comes next. What you have reported and seen, it hardly seems possible, but if true it is truly disturbing news. I am pleased of your success,regardless and that you are returning to us safely._

_I can assure you that beyond the very real possibility of Sera poisoning me with one of her baked goods, I am in no immediate danger, though I appreciate the concern._

_Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford_

*

"A love letter, Herald?" Dorian's cheerful voice rang out while they made their way through the winding mountains. The bracing mountain air had done much to revive their spirits, now that they were nearing their destination.

The Herald's ears perked up at the inquiry, but remained silent. It didn't seem possible that their new companion could have seen anything from his expression or actions to indicate there was anything between him and the Commander.

Cassandra spoke up first, before The Herald was forced to respond. "A what?"

Dorian chuckled, "Our dear Herald scurried off the moment that letter arrived and has been clutching it in his hand every since. Now, I wonder, who has caught the attention of our beautiful, illustrious leader, The Herald of Andraste, hm?" He hummed with amusement.

The Herald was leading the group so they couldn't see his expression, and he couldn't help but smile. It wasn't quite a love note but it had meant something to him, a small comfort that kept his mind at ease, to know that he was safe. Somehow the roughly written words had felt to him like the smug smirks he would occasionally pass his way, despite his polite and proper exterior he had a playfulness and passion just waiting to be explored.

Cassandra uttered a disapproving sound. "That's impossible, we are at war. When would the Herald have had time to... " Her voice trailed off. After a pause, Cassandra continued, her voice tinged with a note of amusement and excitement. "...But perhaps before. At the circle?"

"Ah, yes. The mage prisons you all are so in love with. Well, I'm sure being locked up with healthy young things would provide certain opportunities for romance."

The Herald blushed but stayed silent, he wanted to say something, to tell them to stop this inane conversation about his personal life, but at the same time, it was refreshing to hear them talk about him as a person, not just an icon. And this impossible conversation was better than the days of almost complete somber silence that they had been enduring.

"What do you think about this, Qunari?" Dorian questioned The Iron Bull, who took up the rear.

He grunted. "Well, I wouldn't be a very good spy if I couldn't observe people without them knowing about it."

The Herald's face dropped at that. It had been embarrassing but harmless, they were just teasing him, but if somehow something he and Cullen had done had indicated something more was going on and he picked up on it...

"Come on, man! Don't leave us in suspense."

"Er, well. It's probably not my secret to tell. Is it, Boss?" The implication in Bull's tone was clear. He knew. Just like he knew Cullen had been a Templar and a hundred other minor details that no on else, save their spymaster, would have noticed.

"That was... surprisingly decent of you." Dorian sounded almost impressed.

The Iron Bull just laughed in response.

 

*

They travelled the remainder of the trip quietly, but the overall mood of his companions improved. The Herald still felt a pit of terror and worry over what the future showed him, but above all that, a hopeful, joyful feeling had taken hold of him. He still had time to save them, they were still safe. Cullen was still safe. They may still fail to save the world again, but this time, at least he would be here to try.

As he entered the gates of Haven, he saw Cullen standing by his recruits, ordering them to try another shield block, or to work harder. He smiled despite himself, his skill and determination never ceased to impress him.

Cassandra spoke up first. "We should call for a war meeting, Herald. Right away."

The Herald sighed, reluctantly dragging his gaze from the impressive figure of the Commander. He caught the eye of Dorian who had one eyebrow raised and a knowing smirk on his lips. He flushed under the implications of that expression and attempted to ignore it, facing Cassandra.

"Very well, but let us keep it brief. I am exhausted."

They continued to trudge up the path to the Chantry, The Herald cast a sideways look at Commander Cullen as they passed him and he nodded in his direction. After speaking to his lieutenant, he joined them, falling in step with The Herald.

They had fallen slightly behind the group and when they reached the doorway to the Chantry, he held it open for him and lightly placed his hand along his lower back, guiding him inside. "I am pleased you have returned safely, my lord..." His voice was low and his warm eyes locked with his.

"As am I." He breathed out, unable to tear his gaze from the commanders.


	4. Good Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald and Commander Cullen reflect on good memories in their past and grow a bit closer. The Herald finally gets some time to be by themself.

The meeting after arriving back at Haven to discuss his actions in Redcliffe was as heated as he had anticipated. Josephine and Leliana were horrified. How could The Herald conscript the mages, hadn't the mages been through enough? Cullen and Cassandra were pleased with his actions. Then the conversation diverged into a loud argument.

The Herald felt fed up with their indecision and arguing. His voice was sharp and firm. "Enough."

They all turned to look at him and abruptly stopped talking. Cullen raised his eyebrows at him in surprise.

Rage began to fill him as he had to remind them yet again what these people had allowed to happen by starting this war. "My friends fought and died in our circle against rebel mages and templars. I fought for my life and barely made it to be standing here in front of you. I can not trust these mages, not after what they have incited and not after what they did to Redcliffe's people. I only agreed to work with them because our hand was forced, and we needed the power. If it was up to me, we would have let King Alistair kick them out of Fereldan."

Jospehine looked shocked at The Herald's outburst. "I would have thought a mage... would have sympathized."

The Herald sighed. "Perhaps in time some may be able to gain our trust, but I can not allow us to side with them. This is not about me being a mage. This has to do with how many people they have hurt. I can't-- we should not so easily forgive them." He paused, then shook his head. "Forgive me my outburst. I am exhausted and need a bath and dry clothes, perhaps we might convene on the other matters later this evening."

"Of course, Your Worship, we did not intend to show any disrespect." Josephine Montilyet bowed and headed back to her office along with Leliana and Cassandra.

*

After waking from a short nap, The Herald lay on his bed staring up at the familiar ceiling of his wooden cabin. Somehow the cold, rustic town had begun to feel like home to him. He reflected that the Circle hadn't quite felt like home, despite living there for many years. It had been something stable, at least for a time. Now he held bitter memories and the ache of grief when he thought back, though it had tempered some, no longer feeling raw. More like a distant murmur in his mind that got a bit louder at times.

The Herald sat up and stretched his tired limbs, mentally preparing himself for the rest of the day. He then dressed himself in a warm fur lined tunic and pants and left the cabin.

He stood by the doorway and debated where to go from there. Perhaps visiting their new guest Dorian, or listen to more nonsense from Sera? His eyes flickered to the wooden gates that lead to the training yard, where Cullen often could be found when he wasn't in the war room. He couldn't help himself, he felt his legs moving before his mind made a decision.

Soon he was standing mere steps away from where Cullen was arguing with one of his lieutenants. The Herald stood back, crossing his arms, enjoying the confident tone he adopted when training his men, the Knight-Commander in him coming out. He really was impressive.

He was also a welcome sight, after so long of being apart from him he had realised how much he desired to be in his company. Cullen turned his head to face his when his lieutenant nodded in his direction. Cullen's face went from stony commander to affectionate in an instant when he captured his gaze. The Herald couldn't help the slightly giddy feeling he felt bubble up inside of him.

After several more barking orders, Cullen left his recruits and walked towards the Herald, his hand resting on his longsword, causing him to swagger slightly, giving him the appearance of a prowling animal.

"Come to see the recruits, my Lord?" Cullen's voice was low and just for him.

He flashed him a smile, looking into his warm eyes. "Just their Commander. Walk with me?" The Herald requested and began to head towards the quiet path near the frozen lake.

Cullen gave a small nod and smirked at him playfully when he looked back at him. He kept pace with him, walking next to him in silence until they had reached a suitably isolated spot. The Herald paused in his steps and turned to face him.

"This entire thing is a mess." The Herald said with exasperation.

Cullen raised an eyebrow, looking at him patiently.

"This war. It's just... madness. I just want it to be over. I know you wanted the Templar support. I am sorry we could not find a way to get everyone to work together. I am not sure why I even thought that possible given what I had seen of the fighting."

"You made a decision. Yes, I recommended we go after the Templars, some may be still loyal and will to help, but you acted. I support your decision. At least we do not have mages running around unchecked—" He paused in his words, his mouth opening slightly to form an apology.

The Herald put up his hand to stop him from trying. "It's all right, Cullen. I know what you mean. I do not trust them either, but I also can't afford to put my trust in anyone too easily anymore. They will have to earn my trust."

Cullen looked away from him, and gave him a side ways glance. "What happened in the circle?"

He supposed that was fair, he had drilled him for details about his past, he hadn't been too eager to share the darker stories but he could guess what might have happened. Betrayal, fighting, blood magic or something equally unpleasant, so he hadn't pried.

"I know you have bad memories of the circle tower, well so do I. Mine just are a bit more recent. There was so much fighting and death on both sides. I fought for days to protect people against the madness of mages and templars who were out for blood, I wasn't able to save them all, I barely made it out alive. I would have died there if not for the kindness of a Templar." The herald paused, his voice sad and resigned. "It is not easy to talk about..."

Cullen reached over and squeezed his hand gently. "It is all right. We do not need to speak any more of it."

"Thank you." The Herald let out a sigh in relief. "Perhaps ask me again and I will tell you. I would prefer to speak of better things."

They walked for several moments in silence, The Herald took in his surroundings, the crisp mountain air, the birds and the trees. It was rare to have a moment that was this quiet, with no orders or requests. He was so grateful for his easy company and support.

"Tell me of a good memory of the circle." Cullen asked after a time.

"I used to love pouring over stacks of books. I would find something that interested me and I would study and research until I knew everything I could about it."

"What sort of topics?"

"Usually artifacts, bits of history, magical theory. I am actually fascinated by Dorian's research, but part of me can't believe such a thing is possible. Every time I think I know everything there is to know about magic, the rules change."

Cullen let out a sharp laugh. "That's impressive coming from mage... and a bit terrifying."

"I loved that library, the smell of the books, the warmth of the fire. It was quiet, peaceful. And the templars there usually left you alone, so long as you weren't talking to anyone. Did you ever speak to the mages while you were at the circle?"

Cullen let out a slightly self-deprecating laugh ."We were taught not to, but in my youth I believed that mages should be treated fairly, I did often speak to them. But that was before the tower fell."

The Herald recalled his admission that he had regrets about how he had treated Mages in the past. He wondered if this was perhaps part of a larger story. "Why did you join the Templars?"

"I could think of no greater calling, to protect those in need..."

"And now?"

"And now... Now I am content to protect you— er to protect the Inquisition, his forces, his people, including the Herald."

The Herald smiled at him, he didn't miss the slip of his tongue. He gave him a sideways glance, unable to stop the teasing accusation that rolled off his tongue. "I am not just another mage that you should be watching over, Commander. You are no longer a Templar."

"That's— That's not what I meant. Maker's breath." Cullen looked a bit sheepish and rubbed his neck idly.

"You know, in the circle, the Templars just stood there all day. Watching us. When I arrived to Haven, Cassandra was everywhere I went. Even after he told me he trusted me, I felt like everywhere I went there were eyes on me, like back in the tower. I still do not know if this is because they believe I was sent from the Maker or if it's because they fear me as a mage. There are times that I wonder if I'll ever be able to be truly alone."

Cullen looked back along the path they had come, noticing how quiet and isolated they truly were, Haven was far in the distance and only the occasional distance sound could be heard.

He reached over and ran his hand along his cheek, brushing away snowflakes that had fallen. He looked into his eyes, with an expression of deep longing that made his breath catch. His eyes drifted down to his lips then back up to his eyes. The Herald felt something between them, like something would happen in this moment, one of them just needed to take the first step, to fall.

He tilted his chin up and leaned into his palm. He wanted him to kiss him, like in his vivid dreams while lying awake in the Hinterlands to run his hands along his sides and pull him against him, claiming him, worshipping him.

Cullen cleared his throat, and his voice was husky. "It's just us here. I don't fear you, and I don't watch you because I was a Templar. I watch you because you are a confident, strong, fascinating person that has captured my attentions and earned my respect."

At his words, the Herald felt heat pooling low in his stomach, and he felt flushed. Embarrassment or pleasure, it was hard to say. He swallowed hard before responding. "I trusted you the moment I saw you. Something about you... I knew you would always give me your honesty and respect. Your passion for this Inquisition is the reason I am still here, you have so much faith in our cause, it is truly inspiring. I want to help, if there is something I can do after the breach is closed I want to. I want to stay with the Inquisition and stay with y—"

_And stay with you._

Cullen was staring at him intently, he wet his lips, his tongue darting over his lower lip. The Herald's eyes followed the motion, drawn to the way the scar above his lip moved with the action. Whatever heat was spirally between them was getting unbearable. They needed to stop or keep going before he lost his mind. He felt them resting on the precipice but his uncertainty and doubts held him back. 

Cullen seemed uncertain in his actions too, his eyes searching his, his mouth moving to form words he couldn't say. He instead, gently ran his hands down the Heralds back and pulled him into another warm embrace. He let out a small contented sigh and nestled his head against his fur lined cloak and closed his eyes. The heat that had been growing was replaced by a deep aching longing for something he could not describe or explain.

Cullen spoke, his voice cracked and raw, muffled against the Herald’s hair as he held his body close. "I too had many years of being under strict rule, I know how important it is to be able to feel free from the cage you had been in for so long." He ran his gloved hand gently through his hair. "I am going to head back to camp and take care of some duties before our meeting. Take some time to be by yourself. No one will follow you, I'll make sure Cassandra is busy elsewhere. Enjoy some time alone for once. Might I suggest this trail, it leads to a stunning view of the mountains."

It had seemed like such a perfect gift, but also a bit terrifying. He could not even recall the last time he had been separated from other people, allowed to go or do what he wished, even as a child he had likely not had that freedom. The Herald pulled away from the embrace, a smile across his face. "Thank you, Cullen."

He squeezed his hand before turning away from him and making his way back down the snowy path to Haven. The Herald took a moment to take in the the wilderness before him before he began his hike up the hill. It was peaceful, quiet and he had only his footsteps for company. 


	5. It Feels like it's Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The herald prepares themself to close the breach

The walk had been good, The Herald reflected, once he was again resting in his cabin, snuggled in his bed under the covers. The stress of travel and ceaseless discussions regarding preparations had left him utterly exhausted, and he melted further into the welcoming softness of the feather bed.

One last night in Haven before the trek to close the breach. They saw no point in delaying it, the mages were ready. They would head out in the early morning.

One last night of being the saviour and only one who could save the world. He was uncertain what would become of him after that. Did he truly have a place in the inquisition once he was done? If the fade rifts still needed to be closed elsewhere he supposed that would keep him busy for a time, but he would have to wait until an Inquisitor was decided upon to get a clear answer.

The Herald wanted to help, he hadn't been lying when he told Cullen he was inspired by his passion and belief in their cause. The inquisition had done much since it first began, perhaps there was more stability they could provide elsewhere.

He sighed deeply, and relaxed further into his bed, listening to the crackling fire. He had almost forgot how wonderful a real bed was, after so long sleeping on the ground.

He felt his eyes growing heavy, his mind clearing. It was in this comfort that memories of his walk with Cullen invaded his mind. He remembered the heat and anticipation that electrified the air between them, a feeling he had not acted on. Cullen had not either, though through his actions and endearing moments of going from being sure and bold to shy and uncertain, he could only assume that he felt at least some of what he did. Being around him gave him a heady feeling, it made it hard to think about anything else, to focus on the task at hand. It was distracting, but it felt so good too.

The Herald imagined the lips of the Commander, not angled in a smirk but rather pressing against his; soft and insistent, his tongue and mouth capturing his. And, instead of kind, uncertain gestures, his hands reached for his body, pulling him closer, exploring and pressing...

*  
A gentle knock on the door woke the herald from his sleep, and he sat up abruptly. He was dazed and it took a few moments to recognize his surroundings and to slow his heartbeat. He was all too used to reacting to threats.

He found his voice and cleared his throat after it initially came out a bit raspy. "Come in."

He heard the latch and hinge of the door as it was opened and a gust of icy air invaded the room before it was quickly closed again. He shivered and pulled the blankets over his shoulders.

Commander Cullen stood in his cabin, out of armour, dressed in a fur lined Feraldan tunic and light leather pants. He hadn't seen him out of his armour before, but it certainly looked warm enough. "Good morning, Cullen." The informal state in which they were meeting, both in location and in dress made him forget any formal pretences they may have been upholding for the sake of propriety.

Cullen smiled gently at him, but he looked tired, like he hadn't slept properly for days. "Good morning, my lord. I thought you might enjoy some tea and breakfast before we have to move out."

The Herald blinked at him. If he was here with breakfast it meant he overslept and missed the morning meal. He must have been more tired than he thought. He groaned softly and rubbed his stubbled face. "Thank you. I must be more tired from the travel then I had expected."

"It is no problem. You need your strength." He let out a low chuckle. "You are, after all, the most important piece. Without you, we can't close the breach, it will keep another few more hours." Cullen placed the teapot on a side table and came to sit by his bedside with a steaming mug and a bowl of hot oats.

The Herald sat up and accepted the tea and food gratefully. Balancing the bowl between his legs and taking a few hesitant sips of the hot liquid. Cullen placed his hand along his foot under the blankets, giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "How are you feeling? It is a lot we ask of you. I want you to know that we are all grateful for what you have accomplished, what you will do."

A pleasantly warm feeling grew inside him at hearing the praise. "It is nice to feel welcome, thank you." His smile fell and his gaze focused on the cup in his hands as he took another sip. "I only wish I were more certain about my role here in the future."

Cullen raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean? You are The Herald."

He met his eyes, did he truly see him as such? A blessed saviour, sent from the prophetess Andraste? Rather than... A person? The implication that he would forever be a figure head or icon made him uneasy and a bit sad thinking he might also see him as such, an untouchable person.

"I still can not recall any of the fade, I just feel like me. Like I have always been. Whatever else I might be, I'm still a person."

Cullen's face carefully studied his, his expression thoughtful. "You may have been what we needed when we needed it, but I also know you are more than what they say you are. You are not just some icon to be worshipped. Not to me. You are so much more."

He felt his face flush and a tingling warmth spread down his limbs. "Cullen, I--" he felt an admission in the tip of his tongue. What did he even want to say?  
_I care for you_  
_You keep me grounded_  
_You make me want to do better_

He reached over and put his hand on his cheek, hoping that it would communicate what he could not say. Words felt inadequate anyway. He let out a small sigh at his touch and leaned into his palm.

"When this is over, when the breach is sealed and were all safe I hope you'll stay here."

"I would like that."

They stayed in the bed together for a few more minutes, before he left him to dress and prepare for the trek to the temple ruins. He felt lighter and at ease, come what may, he would remain and discover what could be with the inquisition and with him. Someone who he felt he could fall for, who he trusted implicitly, to watch his back and to support him.

He stood at the base of the temple, staring up at the vibrant green magic of the breach. He felt a cold panic briefly overcome him while the apostate elf, Solas barked orders to the mages who circled him. He felt their power and his hand buzzed with power, growing to an almost unbearable compulsion to raise his hand and let the energy connect with the breach.

This was it. He took a deep breath and lifted his hand and the breach exploded and closed with a bright light. Then the cheers went up, and he just stood there, stunned.


	6. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor has established a morning routine and feels comfortable in Skyhold, but they are concerned for the wellbeing of the Commander.

_The echoes of distant voices faded in and out of focus. The Herald could barely keep his eyes open, he couldn't move his tired limbs, his legs had collapsed under him minutes ago, or perhaps hours, he no longer could tell how long he had lain there on the icy snow. It felt so warm, he thought with a smile, feeling sleepy and exhausted, he couldn't even recall why he had been so cold--_

*

The bright sun peaked over the tips of the snowy Frostbacks, illuminating the edges of the Skyhold ramparts. The Herald of Andraste, now Inquisitor Trevelyan, jogged along the wall, enjoying the quiet and chill of the early morning. Servants were always busy in the morning, preparing food, cleaning, readying themselves for the inhabitants and soldiers who resided in the fortress. But, other than them, few others were up this early. It was the perfect time for clearing his head and for him to get a moment alone.

The Inquisitor loved running up the stairs and along the rampart. It made the blood start pumping and he revelled in breathing the cool, crisp air. From this height he could also observe those below. From the shopkeepers setting for up for their trade, to the soldiers, preparing for training, to the couriers scurrying around with the first messages of the day.

After arriving to Skyhold, it hadn't taken long at all to get into a comfortable ritual, sleeping in a comfortable bed again, surrounded by comforts that reminded him of home. Mornings often began with a run such as this, followed by tea and breakfast, then meetings with his advisors and any visiting dignitaries. When duties permitted, Commander Cullen often joined him for part of his exercise before he had to begin training for the day, leaving him to finish by himself--

*

_\--Cullen fell in step with the Inquisitor as he rounded the corner of the stairs. He was broken out of his train of thought, but he was a welcome sight. "Thought I might join you for a moment, I have training scheduled but not for 15 minutes at least."_

_The Inquisitor beamed at him, his face flushed with the cold, biting wind. When he smirked back to him, he could have blamed the fluttering feeling in his chest on the run, but that would have been a lie--_

*

\--The Inquisitor paused at an area of the stone wall that overlooked the training circle, near the Tavern. Several soldiers and recruits had already gathered. He could point out the rawer members from their slightly sloppy dress, the loose way they held their posture. The Commander had a way with his troops, they would be standing tall, with neat uniforms in under a week, he had no doubt.

The Commander stalked onto the field, in the Fereldan fur lined armour that was so characteristically him. He had a scowl on his face, and he looked a bit haggard, had he been sleeping well? The Inquisitor made a mental note to check in on him later, what had started as inspiring passion for their cause had more recently begun to seem to be bordering on the obsessive, did that man ever rest?

Commander Cullen was motioning to several of the lined up men and women how to properly hold a shield against, he assumed, a variety of attacks. His mind went back to the training session with Cullen in Haven, it had seemed almost a lifetime ago, so much had happened since then. His face still flushed with embarrassment when he remembered the pleading in the his voice when he had asked him to hold him.

There hadn't been much time to spend together since arriving at Skyhold. There always seemed to be something to be done. Repairs, requisitions, Inquisition influence to spread, or some people to help. He was often not even at Skyhold, taking long trips out into Orlais and Fereldan. He took some solace in the fact that when he finally did return, Skyhold felt like he had not even left it. The people were doing their day-to-day the same as before, his inner circle were just where he left them, busying themselves in their passions.

The Inquisitor took one final look at the Commander below, before heading off to his quarters for tea and to read his reports, and to send a message for Cullen to meet him that evening.

*

At nightfall, The Inquisitor sat in his quarters at his desk, hunched over missives by candlelight. He had opened his balcony doors some time ago to fight off an almost stifling heat of the fireplace, and an icy breeze wafted in, causing paper to fly everywhere. He cursed as he made for a grab of several, very nearly missing knocking over a candle on his desk.

"Careful, my lord," came a familiar, warm voice accompanied by a low chuckle.

Cullen's voice made him jump. "Maker's breath!" He exclaimed as he turned around to face him, startled. He clutched the reports to his chest, his heart hammering in his chest. "You surprised me." He let out a small laugh, as he calmed himself down.

Cullen took a few steps towards him, closing the balcony doors and then reaching over to pull the papers from his grasp and place them on his desk.

He let him take them, but groaned. "How much of that did you see?"

He glanced back at him with a smirk as he made his way to sit down at the nearby couch. "Don't worry, your rare moment of imperfection is safe with me."

Walking over to him, The Inquisitor debated what to say to him, the tiredness he had seen this morning had all but faded away in his presence. He looked him over carefully and when he neared him, he knelt down in front of him and placed a warm hand on his cheek. He met his eyes with more than a little confusion and placed his hand along his arm, as if he wanted to keep him there. "Not a meeting to discuss the Inquisition then," he murmured.

He breathed out, and rubbed his face with his thumb, along his cheekbone, over the several day stubble. "No, it isn't."

Cullen let out a shaky breath and licked his lips, his gaze dropping to his mouth, making him flush. His grip on his arm tightened and he pressed his hand on his hip to pull the Herald to him. Their lips were close enough they were nearly touching, his breaths coming out in tiny pants against his skin. A flood of heat ran through The Inquisitor's body and he felt weak, he had wanted a conversation, but this was-- he was leaving him breathless, lightheaded and needy like he so often did. He couldn't think clearly, he just wanted him to keep touching him. And it would be so easy to kiss him if he just angled his head up a bit--

His voice was a deep, husky rumble. "What can I do for you then, my Lord."

He could barely find his voice, his body trembled under his touch. "I-I've been... worried about you."

A softer smile appeared on his face. "You needn't bother, I am fine... And now, far more than fine."

He let out a sigh, and closed his eyes. "This-- Maker's breath, this incredible feeling between us... I-I want to, but I can't... I shouldn't. You're the inquisitor... We're at war…"

The inquisitor felt him start to pull away again, his face looking away from his and his hand slowly falling from his side. It seemed like he was warring within himself, or being exceedingly polite for his sake.

"Cullen...I care for you, that goes beyond our titles, with you I feel like just me. I don't see you as just a Templar or commander or warrior, I see you. Cullen Stanton Rutherford, a brave, selfless, passionate man, who never stops trying to better himself. Whatever I am, whatever we're doing, I'm stronger with you. We're stronger together." He pressed his hand against him, angling his face so he would look at him again, so he could look into his downcast eyes. The inquisitor paused and cautiously continued, “Is it because I'm not a woman?”

Cullen looked sharply up, face twisted in concern and pain. “At first.” He said honestly, “but now, it doesn't seem to matter. I am only thinking of duty… loyalty to our cause. To you.” The look in Cullen's eyes made the inquisitors breath hitch, his chest clenching at the intensity of his expression. He opened his mouth again, to say something, but he was speechless and blushing a deep crimson.

Then with a groan, Cullen reached up to cup Trevelyans head with his hands and finally brought his mouth down on his in a deep kiss. The inquisitor's heart threatened to leap out of his chest in joy and surprise as he kissed him back with equal fervour.

*

Kissing him was proving to be his undoing, the soft, tender touches of his lips, the hot slides of his tongue pulling quiet whimpers from his throat, his hand gripping his jaw and caressing his cheek--

He was dazed when he finally pulled away. He idly licked his lips, the movement of his scar capturing his attention and sending a thrill down his spine. His breaths were hot against his flushed skin in the close proximity. "That was-- really nice."

The lust driven haze cleared a bit at his soft words. The inquisitor smiled at him, pulling him in for another kiss, wanting to keep feeling the intense passion coiling between them, wanting to stoke it. His lips brushed against his and his eyes fluttered shut. "It truly was."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please let me know if you liked this!


	7. How to Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emprise du Lion is a terrible place, and The Inquistor finds themself battling their past and present in order to get back home.

_The situation in emprise du lion is--_

~~_Intolerable_ ~~  
~~_Utter madness_~~  
~~_My worst nightmare_~~

_\--Irredeemable._

The inquisitor punctuated the sentence with a frustrated stab, splitting the quill nib and splattering ink all over the parchment and his leather tunic.

He cursed under his breath, standing up and running his hand through his hair while pacing inside the tent. He wanted to be anywhere else than here, anywhere but this red lyrium, insane Templar infested, frozen wasteland. He felt on edge, he couldn't concentrate and the persistent, whispering, buzzing hum of the red lyrium was never far.

Varric's cautionary words flickered through his mind, "Don't touch the stuff, it's evil." Yet, here they were. Forced to set up and hold temporary camps in an area ravaged by the stuff, all to prevent the Templars from gaining an even stronger hold.

Roughly rubbing his gloved hand over his face in exhaustion, he let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes in an to attempt to calm himself. He felt uneasy. It was hard for him to forget his past memories of close encounters with blood thirsty templars, though he tried to remind himself that he was safe in camp, moderately.

For one, there was his walking fortress of a companion, seeker Cassandra who would stand in front of him, come what may. For two, there was a growing inquisition presence in the area, so, more soldiers, less Templars. And each day they forged on, the threat was reduced, not just for him, but for the townsfolk who had been sent to the terrible Red Lyrium mines.

Cullen's request was etched into his memory, his spiteful, angry words when he recalled Samson, his disgust with what the man had become and all that he had betrayed. But he had also seen the flicker of fear in his eyes, did he worry that he could have become that man? If circumstances had not lead him to the inquisition?

Such thoughts made the inquisitor feel slightly ill, and his heart clenched into a tight knot thinking about the pain and turmoil Cullen must be feeling about sending him here. About what he by now knew of what he was facing, through the regular missives that he had sent him. That he was stuck out here, hunting corrupted Templar after corrupted Templar, praying that this time he would be fast enough to evade their powerful blows, to get his shields up, to not be silenced and left powerless, trying to fight back the old fear of being in that circle tower during the rebellions. Part of him wanted to leave this place to its fate, rather than risk himself and his followers. But he also knew that he could never live with himself if he let this place fall. It was his duty to resolve this, one way or another.

The inquisitor left the tent and the paper and ink mess, motioning to an officer to clear it away. He climbed up to the top of the abandoned tower that they had claimed from the Templars, sat on the creaking wood platform, and looked out over the vast, frozen crevasse.

The location was not exactly relaxing, nor was he ever truly able to let his guard down, but up here at least, he was able to take a few deep breaths and let out a few tears, without anyone seeing him. The ache of missing Cullen, the fear and panic of his memories, and the frantic battles from the past week, all welling up inside him, spilling out. He let himself have that moment, alone, he wasn't a leader up here, just Trevelyan.

*

Mornings in Emprise du Lion were the worst of all. The Inquisitor slept poorly on the hard, cold ground, and as he regained consciousness, he would roll over to wrap his arms around Cullen, only to find himself alone. The bitter rush of reality making him feel sick and lonely.

His companions were in poor moods as well, Varric kept looking around nervously, Cassandra had a permanent scowl on his face and Dorian just hugged himself, lingering near the fire whenever possible, like he would never be warm again.

The Inquisitor greeted his friends by the fire, rubbing his hands in a feeble attempt to warm them, despite the wool and leather gloves he wore. This place was unusually cold. It was a deep, biting cold that seemed to permeate all manner of layers, serving to really drive home how much this place truly was forsaken.

Varric's wry tone made him look up. "Let me guess, we're going to be fighting templars again today. Joy of joys."

"Don't forget trudging through red lyrium mines." Dorian added unhappily.

"How could I forget." Varric pulled at his gloves, idly, then looked up at the Inquisitor with a pained expression. "Look, Inquisitor. I know we need to stop this stuff from being spread but, Maferath's balls! I really don't think we should be here. No one should be here. We do no one any good by losing our minds to the stuff."

"And just who would stop this if we did not?" Cassandra spat at him, her ire raising.

The Inquisitor crossed his arms and stared past the fire, thoughtfully, and let them bicker. What could he do? They had a job to do, Cullen had specifically requested that he do it, the townsfolk would likely die if he did not. No, they could not abandon this, they just needed to do it quickly and get out of there.

The Inquisitor turned on his heel, marched to his gear, and started off towards the edge of camp. His followers looked up at him, surprised by his abruptness.

"Inquisitor?" Cassandra's voice called out to him, much more gently than when she spoke to Varric.

The Inquisitor turned back, his face hard and unwavering. "It has to be us. No one else will help these people, no one else will stop these Templars. I don't want to linger here any longer than necessary, but I see no other option, Cull-- _Commander_ Cullen personally asked me to take care of this operation, I won't let him or the Inquisition or these townspeople down." His voice grew softer and he repeated it, partially to convince himself, "It has to be us."

*  
At last, the last of the miners were freed, the last of the Templars fell. No more Red Lyrium mine, just a gaping pit and bodies and red lyrium as far as the eye could see.

They trekked, exhausted back to the nearest camp, and The Inquisitor hurriedly wrote a short note to Skyhold requesting more soldiers to protect the mine, and to send along all that they had gathered of Samson. He left a private note to Cullen amongst the missives to be delivered, and the Scout merely nodded at his request to deliver that one to him personally. He thanked the Maker for his discretion on the matter. It would not do for the entirety of the Inquisitions forces to know he was involved with the Commander, too many of them saw him as an icon, and sometimes it seemed that was the best way to have it, at least for now.

*

_Cullen,_  
_I have managed to live through this horrid place and our mission was a success. Though, I fear I can no longer endure the relentless ache and pain I feel from being away from you for so long. I long to be at your side, and in your arms. I am leaving and will be home soon, please wait for me._  
_Love,_  
_Trevelyan ._

*

Returning to Skyhold and entering the gates, The Inquisitor dismounted from his horse, and stood on shaky legs while he passed off the reigns to a stableboy. He took a moment to smooth down his coat and hair before he broke off in a run up the steps towards Cullen's office. As he reached the top of the stairs, he saw Cullen exiting a doorway in front of him, and his expression broke into a wide smile.

He ran towards him as he stepped forward to capture him in his strong arms, holding him tight. He sighed deeply, trying to pull him in closer. His mouth kissed the top of him head, his lips moving against him. "Maker's breath, how I missed you."The Inquisitors warm palm cupped Cullen's head as he melted into him, a relieved sigh escaping his throat.

His hands tightened against his cloak. His voice was quiet and like a prayer, reminding himself that this was real, that he was real, that the terrible pain of the past weeks was over. _I'm here. I'm here. I'm here..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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